


Deduce Me

by YesraMorningstar



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Deductions, F/M, Fluff, Smart Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24242470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesraMorningstar/pseuds/YesraMorningstar
Summary: Getting involved with Sherlock Holmes was always an interesting time
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Reader, Sherlock/Reader
Kudos: 79





	1. Tell Me

You sighed contently as you read your favorite novel curled up in the most comfortable chair in the flat. Sherlock’s chair, that is. You came to visit and waste time, but arrived to an empty flat so you decided to get comfortable. There were no dishes in the sink or drying on the rack; Sherlock must have dragged John out in the middle of the night. It was already midafternoon which means they most likely are close to finishing, or had already solved, whatever case Sherlock got mixed in with. ‘Or should I say who he got mixed with,’ you thought amusedly. You calmly picked up your cup of steaming tea and sipped it slowly, waiting for the troublemaker and his reluctant assistant. 

It’s been about half a year since you’ve become good friends with John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. You own a small bookshop down Baker Street. John had come in looking for some book “that everyone in London should have” or something along those lines. You had to explain to him that your bookshop doesn’t have traveler’s guides, dictionaries, or anything remotely close to an encyclopedia; you only had novels. Traditional, fiction, science fiction, philosophical, any novel that one would consider inspiring, interesting, or a life changing read. It turned out to be a good conversation starter as you two had talked for a while before exchanging information. And now here you are, sitting in his flat as if you lived here. You smirked to yourself at the memory of your first time coming into 221 B and the first time you met consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. 

~Flashback~

John had invited you over for tea after visiting your shop one evening. He warned you about his flat mate, many times actually, but you assured him that you could handle it. John kindly let you in and directed you to the living area. The flat was homely in both size and feel. You looked around the room as John started to make his way to the kitchen to start the kettle. ‘I bet John does all the work to keep this place looking decent,’ you chuckled to yourself. At that moment the door opened and a man with a dark mop of curls and piercing blue eyes stood in the doorway. He leered at you, his eyes scanning from head to toe before returning his icy stare back into your eyes. “Oh you must be John’s flat mate. My name is _____ _____. I-“ “You own a bookshop on this street, but slept in this morning and opened fifteen minutes later than usual. You live alone, above the shop, most likely with a pet but not a dog or cat. Recently single relating to your deep interest in books. Romantically interested in John even though he is ‘not your type,’” the man said suddenly. You only smiled at the terrified face of John’s and calmly assured him once more. “You did warn me and I said I could definitely handle it.”

“The scent of the oil I use to clean the bookshelves leaves a rather long lasting smell on my hands. Although, my fingers do have some battle scars from handling books all my life. I did sleep in this morning, but only seven minutes late; my clothes are a bit mismatched and wrinkled, but doable and pet hair free. I do live alone, as anyone my age should unless married or romantically involved, but I do have a cat named Louie; she is my late mother’s nine year old sphinx. The ring tan line on my hand wasn’t a promise ring, it was my mother’s, but had broken recently and is currently being repaired. I will admit that my interest in books exceeds my interest in romance. I believe John and I are in agreement that we are only good friends who like to chat and exchange occasional advice on particular matters,” you looked at the light eyed man and noticed his eyes widen slightly before continuing his signature scowl. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes.”

~End Flashback~

You smiled fondly at the memory of that first meeting in 221 B. A noise that sounded like the downstairs door slamming open and shut interrupted your thoughts. “Think of the devil and he shall come,” you whispered to yourself. You laid across Sherlock’s proclaimed chair and resumed reading your novel, your cold tea left forgotten on the small table. Finally, the door opened and John walked in looking distressed. “I’m guessing the case went well, John?” you smirked teasingly. The doctor sent you a halfhearted glare at your teasing before responding with an, “it went well, _____. It’s lovely to see you as always but I am in desperate need of a shower.” You held in your laugh as he stormed off to the bathroom. After you heard the bathroom door close Sherlock made his way into the flat. “John’s going to be cross with you for a while, Sherlock,” you calmly stated while observing him from his chair. “He’ll get over it,” he responded in his ‘I’m extremely bored’ tone. You chuckled lightly as you turned the page to your book, your eyes scanning over the lines of words before noticing that he hasn’t moved a step.

When you peeked over the rim of your novel, blue eyes met with (e/c) ones as you stared at each other. “Isn’t it midday? Why aren’t you at your shop?” Sherlock asked accusingly. “It’s Sunday, Sherlock, the shop is closed. Poor John, you probably had him up all night on his day off,” you retorted. “Why do you always come here, _____?” Sherlock asked bluntly. A bit caught off guard you cheekily responded with, “I always enjoy the company of my favorite doctor and arse hole of a consulting detective.” You set your book down onto the table and stared at the man in front of you. “And always in my chair,” he added annoyed. “Mmm if you hate it so much then move me why don’t you?” you said challengingly. Sherlock stared at you quietly for a few moments before walking towards you. Slightly shocked you changed your posture until you were sitting correctly in the chair, feet flat against the floor, but kept your facial expression unchanged. ‘He’s only going to try to make you move,’ you thought logically. Sherlock stopped at the edge of the carpet before calmly saying, “I know what you’re thinking, _____.” “Oh?” you said bravely, “Do tell me, Sherlock.”

“You come over a lot, perhaps on most of your free time if not all,” he began slowly, “always with a book or puzzle in hand to make it seem like you always have something to do when visiting while in actuality you just end up daydreaming or staring at me work.” He continued as he approached your frozen form sitting in his chair. His eyes bore into your own intensely as he closed in on you, his long arms holding onto the arms of the chair and trapping you within. You sunk back into the chair, trying to put as much distance as possible between you two before he continued his deduction. “I see you looking, _____. Dilated pupils, change in breathing, light blushes; all of the classic signs of attraction,” Sherlock stated confidently while getting even closer. You knew he could see your nervousness; he could sense it. Sherlock stopped only a breath away from his nose touching yours, his calm breath fanning against your lips. “Am I wrong, _____?” he asked quietly. A small shiver crawled down your spine at the sound of your name leaving his lips. ‘He obviously knows, why hide it?’ you decided.

With a small smirk you leaned in just a bit closer until your noses touched and your lips were almost brushing against his. “And what if you were?” you questioned. “Why am I the only one allowed to sit in your chair without you throwing a tantrum? If you see me staring, that means you’ve been looking at me too. You’ve always eaten my cooking even though you never eat anytime else and claim to never need food to function. You’ve let me help you on some cases even though it was obvious that I wasn’t needed. So tell me, Sherlock, is it just me?” you breathed out softly, (e/c) staring into his. You let your hand slowly trail up his arm until it reached his neck, your fingers playing with the bunch of curls resting against the back of his neck. His breath stalled for a fraction of a second and you smirked proudly, brushing your nose against his. “Change in breathing… do you also have dilated pupils, Sherlock?” you asked teasingly before gently brushing your lips against his own. 

You felt his form stiffen when your lips touched his and took the opportunity to slip under his arm and escape his bodily prison. You straightened out your clothes and put on your coat as you watched him slowly turn towards you. “Is that also a light blush I see on the famous Sherlock Holmes?” you added with a laugh. “Deduce me all you want, Sherlock. I’m not hiding anything from you,” you winked playfully before walking out of 221 B and into the London air.


	2. Approach Me

It’s probably been a couple of weeks since the stunt you pulled with Sherlock. You haven’t seen or heard from the great consulting detective since you left his flat in a nervous, yet overly confident, stride. ‘Maybe I was wrong?’ you questioned yourself as you balanced a stack of books in your arms and began sorting through the shelves. You looked around your shop with a soft sigh and inhaled the relaxing scent of your favorite wood polish and the soft sound of classical music reverberating off the shelves. A content smile graced your features as you continued your last task of the night before closing down the bookshop. ‘Wrong or right, I have nothing to hide from that man,’ you thought determinedly. Shaking your head you decided to ignore the foreboding thought that is Sherlock Holmes and gently swayed to the music while sorting the books.

Sherlock watched bemusedly as you swayed and danced around the shelves smoothly while sliding books into their proper places. The door was still unlocked so he let himself in and found you gallivanting around your shop. The familiar scent of the oil you use to clean the bookshelves gently wafted through his nose as he watched you silently. A small smile slipped on your face as you placed the last book in your arms back in its rightful place, turning in the opposite direction as you swirled around in a circle.

A soft scoff brought you back to the present as it ringed in your ears, your frame freezing in its place. With a slow turn of your head toward the sound you heaved a sigh of relief and a pouty, “Christ, Sherlock, you scared me!” “I was trying to announce my presence since someone was busy dancing around a set of bookshelves,” he replied calmly as his eyes stared into your own. You coughed and looked away, pushing a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, and murmured a quiet, “So what can I help you with detective?” 

Sherlock walked up to the bookshelf and scanned the rows of neatly arranged spines. “Someone left too quickly last meeting that I couldn’t ask you a question,” he stated in perfect monotone. A light blush dusted your cheeks as you thought about your last meeting with the curly headed scientists before your head tilted in curiosity, “And what is the question?” “John told me about your initial meeting here, or rather, specifically what you said to him when he came to ask about a book. He claimed he had heard you mention traveler’s guides or dictionaries. How did you know what kind of book we were looking for?” Sherlock questioned as he turned his steel eyes back to your own (e/c) ones.

A small smirk formed on your lips as you cheekily asked, “Did you ask John about how we came to meet, Sherlock? Investigating more about me are you?” His forehead scrunched into a sour face as he processed your teasing banter, his mouth opening for a retort. Your short laugh interrupted his bitter reply as you cleared your throat and collected yourself. “If I recall he asked about a book that everyone in London would have. London is a tourist magnet. People from all over the globe come to visit this city, especially ones who don’t proficiently speak the language,” you replied confidently. A tense second of silence passed before Sherlock shrugged in dismissiveness and walked towards you. “I suppose that was a logical reason to assume,” he mumbled approvingly. 

As the man walked toward you, you instinctively backed away until your back met with another book shelf. ‘Great, _____, you trapped yourself again,’ you thought exasperatedly. Your eyes locked with Sherlock’s as he got closer, the tips of his shoes stopping just in front of your own. ‘Maybe I should say somethi-‘ you started before he cut off your thought with, “You haven’t stopped by the flat in a while. Mrs. Hudson and John asked me to go check on you,” he said tersely. “Them or you?” you instantly replied. His eyes bore into yours as his lips tightened into a thin line and yours widened into a soft smile. One of your hands slowly rose until it rested on his shoulder. “Have you missed me, Sherlock?” you asked while slowly moving your body closer to his. 

Time seemed to stand still as you two stared at each other in silence before he quietly mumbled, “It’s been boring.” A sly smile broke out on your face as you leaned even closer to the detective. “Should I come steal your chair again?” you asked softly as you stared up into his eyes. As if there were a force between you, an electric pull pulsed between the two of you before Sherlock leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. Before he could pull away you reached up and pulled him closer, pressing your lips against his firmly. As you broke apart you laughed breathlessly as he stood still, slight shock on his face from the event. “So is that a yes?” you grinned?


	3. Twice

“Come here, _____!” a voice shouted above the sound of pelting rain against hard pavement. You slowed and turned to look at the man who was sort of your boyfriend and sort of not. A black umbrella rested in his hand forming a halo of dryness that looked as inviting as a warm blanket. ‘A lot like his self,’ you thought bitterly. After shooting him a pointed look you turned and kept walking at your brisk pace, letting the rain drench you until your clothes clung to you like a second skin. “_____!” he called exasperatedly, “Stop behaving like a child!” he reprimanded as he continued to follow you with his long steps. 

You halted in your steps and whirled around angrily before summoning the coldest voice you could possibly muster, “Go away, Sherlock.” His eyes widened for a fraction of a second making you ‘hmph’ in triumph before narrowing into slits. He was analyzing you, reading you, just like he always does when he doesn’t know how to perceive your reactions. His blue eyes roaming over your face as you stared back defiantly, absorbing the rain that fell upon you. His mouth opened and closed before the man mumbled, “At least tell me what you are so angry about.” 

You approached the man until you were under the umbrella that he carried and looked up into his eyes when a bitter sweet smile made its way onto your features. “Why don’t you go ask the woman who would be more than happy to make you beg for mercy,” you stated blankly before turning away once more and leaving him standing in the rain. 

~time skip backwards~

You had just closed up the bookshop and decided to go visit your favorite detective and blogger. There was a slight drizzle falling from the sky as your legs quickly carried you towards the door of 221 Baker Street. You knocked on the door before opening it and letting yourself in with the lack of response. ‘Mrs. Hudson must be out,’ you thought as you shimmied off your coat that was dusted in small raindrops. Suddenly, a soft voice carried down the stairs. A female’s voice. ‘Do they have a client?’ you thought curiously as you softly padded up the stairs. You opened the door to see the detective, the blogger, and a strange woman in the sitting room before hearing their conversation.

“I would have you right here, on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice,” The woman’s voice said seductively. ‘And what a beautiful woman she is,’ you concluded as your eyes raked over her. Pale, dark hair, full figured, eyes that can stare into your soul. Confident. A little too confident. Must be in a business of some sort where attractiveness plays a rather large role. 

Sherlock’s voice interrupted your train of thought with his familiar baritone, your eyes drawing to the side of his face. “John, please, can you check those flight schedules, see if I'm right?” ‘He hasn’t even noticed my presence,’ you realized. 

“Yeah, I'm on it, yeah.” John’s fingers paused as he made eye contact with you and looked back at Sherlock and the mysterious woman before looking back at you and then back at his computer. ‘John’s nervous, why?’ you wondered as you went back to silently watching the other two.  
“I've never begged for mercy in my life,” your blue-eyed detective answered. His eyes bore into hers as he stated his cause. Interest. Competition. She’s just as intelligent as he is. Equality? Your mind raced as you watched the interaction quietly. 

“Twice.” The woman replied while her eyes trailed up towards your own, a smile carved onto her face. You held her gaze until you felt your body turn back towards the door before Sherlock could see your face. 

~end time skip~

You locked the front door to your shop when the sun had set and the street lights lit the pavement. Your coat hung loosely on your arm as you swept your (h/c) hair out of your eyes. It’s been a couple weeks since you last saw the interaction between Sherlock and that woman. You shook your head at the thought of the dark haired man and turned to walk down the street. A bakery down the way had been your recent nesting place whenever you felt the need to get away from home. It had the best coffee and baked goods around and you recently became a frequent customer. A smile graced your features as you walked along the sidewalk thinking about which treat you should indulge yourself into tonight. ‘I think I’m feeling for something with custard,’ you thought happily as the bakery window appeared in your line of sight.

You breathed in the smell of fresh bread as you pulled open the door to the shop. The young cashier welcomed you with a smile while you walked toward the display of goods in front of you. You ordered your favorite coffee as your eyes roamed the rows of sweet breads before settling on the perfect goodness of a cream puff. “Can I get a c-“ “She’ll take a cream puff,” a male voice interrupted. ‘Think of the devil and he shall come,’ you thought mirthfully. The cashier rang up your order and you quickly paid before the man could do it himself. “Thank you, come again,” the young cashier’s voice echoed as you quickly turned and made your way out of the bakery, ignoring the call of that voice you haven’t heard in weeks.

“______, surely you can’t ignore me forever,” Sherlock said while walking keeping in step with your brisk walk. Your (e/c) eyes looked over him as you paused in your pace. “Have a nice holiday, Mr. Holmes? I see the sun did you some good,” you deadpanned. His brows furrowed as he continued to follow you along the sidewalk. “How is Ms. Adler if I may ask?” you questioned lightly, “I’ve heard it was quite the scandal for you two. Did you enjoy playing the knight in shining armor?” “How did you h-“ “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, Sherlock,” you hissed through your teeth. “If you already know everything than why are you so upset with me?” the man questioned seriously.

“Why am I angry? Are you serious? Not only do I walk in on my boyfriend’s face two inches away from a strange gorgeous woman’s, but also didn’t hear a single word from said boyfriend for weeks. Not days. Weeks. While he goes off to some country with that very same gorgeous woman for who knows how long of a time while I sit here and have to hear absolutely everything from his friend, who I might add is the only reason I haven’t kicked my boyfriend’s arse when he finally shows his face. I don’t care that you were with her, or the fact that it seemed like you guys were about to snog right on your chair, but I am absolutely livid that my boyfriend didn’t even bother to talk to me about it but left me to my own thoughts and simmer in them for weeks on end!” you finished, your chest rising with anger. Sherlock stared into your eyes as he stepped a bit closer. “No! I’m angry right now!” you yelled and used your hands to hold him back. 

A sudden tug on your arm brought you stumbling into that familiar blue coat, a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. It smelled like Sherlock. You struggled weakly before his soft voice whispered atop your hair. “I apologize. I didn’t realize that my actions have left you feeling this way. I’m not… the best at these types of things,” he admitted quietly. You moved your head to look up into the blue eyes you haven’t seen in weeks, your fingers wrapping around the blue scarf that he always wore around his neck. “_____, I-“ “Shut up, boyfriend,” you said before pulling him by the scarf and kissing him intensely. 

“I think it’s my turn to make you beg for mercy. Twice,” you whispered against his lips.


End file.
